The Garbage Can...

     Way back in the olden days when I was living in Penticton and beer was fifty cents a glass, our Fridays were generally spent swilling brewskis at the Penticton Inn beer parlour. You know the kind if you're from my vintage-the small round tables with the red terry tablecloths and the only food served was popcorn, pickled eggs and pickled sausage from those giant jars behind the bar. You can imagine the next day after a dozen draft, a sausage and a couple of those eggs... rackoo.

     After drinking our fill at the Inn we would usually head over to Dooies Discotheque to do The Hustle (if that's what you called it) and pound a few Tequila Sunrises or Singapore Slings (I saw a guy drinking one and thought the glass looked cool so I was in, it went well with my Le Coulotier jeans, tight and sans pockets). I would go out with twenty bucks in my pocket (even though I didn't have any) and after putting in a pretty good shift at both establishments I still had money left for a pizza sub. The name of that place that made them escapes me but they were awesome- especially at 2:30 in the morning.

   After last call at Dooies one night (and possibly a slow dance to "Stay" by Jackson Browne) I was out in the street preparing myself for a pizza sub and a stagger home when I heard a commotion across the street. These two guys, absolutely smashed (not unlike me), were kicking one of those plastic garbage cans when they yelled over to me, "I bet we can kick louder than you!" Not to be outdone, there was one right nearby and with my beige knee-high platform boots proceeded to kick at it as hard as I could. Connecting and just about falling on my ass I blasted the can off of it's post spilling the contents out into the street.

   I'm not sure where they were but Penticton's finest were on me and my kicking buddies before you could even say pizza sub. They slapped the cuffs on us and hauled our asses to what turned out to be my first trip to the drunk tank (oh yes, there were others, it's a small town). 

   After taking what belongings we had on us we were led to "the tank." It had a huge steel door with a barred window that was only about a square foot, a peephole basically. The three stooges were led inside and I was quite shocked by the decor. It was an 8' by 8' room and the walls were cinder blocks painted that soothing jailhouse green with tiles to match. There weren't any beds, you just sat or laid on the cold tile floor and the "bathroom" was a small drain in the middle of the room.

   The door slammed shut and we took our positions. Being a fresh-faced nineteen year old  I wasn't ready for what happened next. The one guy had completely passed out in the middle of the room, covering the drain, and I was sitting with my back on the wall. By this point I had somewhat sobered up but these two were still gassed. The one dude left standing (eyes shut and wobbly, oblivious to what he was doing) unzipped his fly and proceeded to pee all over his buddy who was comatose on the tile floor. It gets a little gross here but I'm freaking out as I'm watching him whizz all over his chest and face and dude doesn't even flinch. Absolutely horrified, I drew my knees up under my chin and spent the rest of the night (well morning actually) wide awake wondering when I was going to get out of this hell hole.

   What a relief when the jailhouse door finally swung open about 8:30 Saturday morning. As I was leaving the member said to me," Pick up that cigarette butt." To which I foolishly replied, "It's not mine." And he said, "How about if I keep you here all weekend?" I just wanted out so I summoned my most sincere, "No sir.", picked up the butt, collected my belongings and walked home.

   I was living with my Aunt and Uncle...

at the time and when she asked me how my evening was I was so filled with guilt and remorse I simply said, "Fine." and went to watch soothing cartoons. It turned out later the other two jailbirds were working at the carnival that was in town and ended up moving there and I sort of became friends with Tony (the pisser not the pissee) who could also burp louder than anyone I've ever heard. Unfortunately for me (and fortunately for you)  this story doesn't end here but that's for another blawg...